


My Heart's Already Broken, Baby (Go On, Twist The Knife)

by saltybisexualgrantaire (greenhighlighter)



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Angst, Exes, M/M, Puppies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-18
Updated: 2016-11-18
Packaged: 2018-08-31 17:28:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8587441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenhighlighter/pseuds/saltybisexualgrantaire
Summary: Courfeyrac was fine. Fine. Practically cheerful. And so it was fine that Combeferre, his ex, wanted his help with whatever-the-fuck-it-was. That was fine. Fine. And Courfeyrac was going to keep repeating that until he believed it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is a short first chapter just to get something out there and to give me something to work from.  
> Title (changed slightly) from Love Me Goodbye by One Direction

Courfeyrac was attempting to juggle his pile of books and his coffee cup in his arms when he felt something nuzzling against his knee. He glanced down. A golden-brown puppy, flecks of dark brown scattered over its forehead, was looking up at him with huge brown eyes.

A smile spread over Courfeyrac's face. "Hey, you." He knelt down next to the dog, dumping his books unceremoniously on the path, ruffling its silky fur with one hand, and lifting up its name tag with the other. "Cassiopeia? What a name to live up to, huh, little star?" A shadow passed over his face. "Sounds like the kinda name _he'd_ give a dog." He bent his head to lean it against Cassiopeia's silky fur.

"Oh, Cassie, that's where you've got to," said a painfully recognisable voice, one that twisted the knife lodged in Courfeyrac's heart. "I'm sorry, mate, she doesn't usually run off like tha-" Courfeyrac looked up reluctantly and the man stopped in his tracks. "Oh."

Courfeyrac squeezed his eyes shut in a vague hope that this would turn out to be a bad dream. He opened his eyes again. It hadn't. Combeferre was still standing there, motionless, sunlight falling around him like a spotlight. The rest of the world turned around them.

Courfeyrac scrambled up, gathering his books into his arms in even more of a mess than they'd been previously, desperately trying to press play on a frozen computer screen. "Wow, funny seeing you here, gosh, fuck, what a wonderful surprise, just what I needed, I'm gonna leave now-"

"Didn't know you spent time here," Combeferre said, because obviously, he's got to make conversation in this situation. Fuck him and his manners.

"I live here." Courfeyrac answered shortly.

Combeferre quirked an eyebrow. "What, in the park-" he stopped short.

 

_"I live here," the boy had answered._

_Courfeyrac had looked around, taking in the books piled over the floor and the growing mountain of coffee cups in the bin beneath the desk. "What, at this desk? Wow, yeah, I see that."_

_The boy had laughed, his eyes crinkling. "Oh, shush, you know what I mean. I live down the road. You know, that really old block of apartments that's definitely going to fall down at some point worryingly soon?"_

_"Wait, the one run by the mysterious landlord who's never there? No way, you live there too?"_

_A smile had spread across the boy's face. "Yep, just about." He had pulled out a scrap piece of paper from where it was functioning as a bookmark and scribbled something down on it. He had handed it to Courfeyrac. "See you around?"_

_Courfeyrac had looked at it: a name, address, and a number. He'd grinned at him. "See you around, Combeferre."_

 

Courfeyrac looked down. "Um, no. Actually, I, uh, I still live in our - in my old apartment. My old apartment."

"Oh." Combeferre bit his lip. "Well, um, see you - see you."

Courfeyrac turned away, pulling his books closer to his chest. "See you." Cassiopeia whined as Courfeyrac hurried away. He grinned thinly. "Me too, pal, me too."

 

* * * * * *

 

Courfeyrac slammed his front door shut behind him and flung himself against it, feeling choked sobs growing in his chest. He looked up around the apartment, and the floodgates opened, memories rushing back in. Combeferre, knocking on his door with a bashful grin; Courfeyrac calling Jehan to gush about the cute boy down the hall; stammering and blushing their way into a first date, a second; Combeferre lying draped across Courfeyrac's knees, pretending to study, the window letting in streams of golden light; a third date; laughing, joking, fucking, flirting, laughing some more; Combeferre's fingers entwined with his; spontaneous 'road trips' consisting of getting on whichever train next arrived; lazy afternoon sex; passing notes in class; 'studying' together, getting kicked out of the library; loving; loving; loving - and then the slow, terrifying tear through the fragile entity of youthful love. But a split through a fusion can never be accurately aimed, will take from each side, leaving neither complete, leaving each with remnants of the other.

And god, did Courfeyrac have remnants of Combeferre: held in his heart like shards of glass, aching with every pump of blood.

Combeferre, Combeferre, Combeferre. A heartbeat.

 

Courfeyrac pressed a shaking hand over his eyes and stood up. Drank some water. Showered. Watched bad reality television. Listened to music. Bought a burger. Ate the burger. Didn't think about Combeferre.

He was fine.

Fine.

Fine.


End file.
